


500 Word Dream Drabbles

by faenova



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-13 03:40:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11751294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faenova/pseuds/faenova
Summary: You don’t know who’s sending you these instructions. You can’t reply to them, and you can’t find the number sending them in the first place. Whoever it is, they seem to know what’s going to happen before it happens. It’s impossible, really, but you’ve stopped questioning it. What are you supposed to do? When you disobey instructions, bad things happen.Your missing pinky and ring finger on your left hand are a testament to that.(a collection of dreams)





	1. There's a Rose in Your Hand

**Author's Note:**

> dream from June 28th, 2014

You don’t know who’s sending you these instructions. You can’t reply to them, and you can’t find the number sending them in the first place. Whoever it is, they seem to know what’s going to happen _before_ it happens. It’s impossible, really, but you’ve stopped questioning it. What are you supposed to do? When you disobey instructions, bad things happen.

Your missing pinky and ring finger on your left hand are a testament to that.

Instructions are always clear. Straightforward. Always on time. Always exactly when you need them. Often, ‘exactly when you need them’ is last minute, so you don’t have to think about what you do before you do it.

_Get out of your house by the fire escape._

_Take the money before the woman turns around._

_Give half the food you bought to the homeless man by the fountain._

_Once you have the key, run._

_Leave the hospital._

_Knock out the nurse with the chair. Leave the hospital immediately._

_Run._

_Find the museum._

_Use the key to scratch the symbol in the attached file onto the northwest corner of the building._

_Wait until dark. Sleep. Further instructions will wake you._

_Use the key to get into the museum._

You did all those things. You’re inside the museum. It’s dark and you’re afraid, but you’re _more_ afraid of disobeying again. You almost had an encounter with a night guard, barely avoiding him when you were told to hide in the bathroom. You’re waiting for further instructions.

_There’s a rose in your hand._

You stare at the phone in confusion. You actually risk saying “What?” aloud. It was from the same mysterious texter, the “from” number a series of black boxes on your screen.

“That’s not instructions,” you whisper. “That’s not – tell me what to _do_ ,” you demand. “What do I do?”

_Find the basement._

You heave a sigh of relief. Thank god. You were ready to go insane in the pitch black of the bathroom. You open the door with caution, though you’re unafraid of anyone seeing you. The mysterious texter hasn’t let you down yet. You don’t know where the basement is, so you sweep the ground floor until you come to a door that says Employees Only. Sure enough, there are stairs leading down. You take them two at a time.

_Turn on the light._

You fumble for a switch. Boxes and dust are revealed in the flickering light. You shield your eyes from the brightness just as you notice another instruction.

_There’s a rose in your hand._

Or not. You groan, and your eyes sweep the room. They fall upon a rather long box on its side, halfway open, a fake looking rose poking out of it. Maybe if you hold it, something will happen. You try to yank it out of the box, but it won’t budge. You open the box to get it free.

There’s a skeleton with a rose in its left hand.

The hand is missing its pinky and ring finger.


	2. The Dragon Blade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excalibur feels weightless in your arms. It’s like an extension of yourself, like you were born to hold this ancient sword that’s been trapped in stone for hundreds of years. And yet, you already miss the heavy weight of the Dragon Blade you’d carried since you were old enough for a real sword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dream from June 30th, 2014

Excalibur feels weightless in your arms. It’s like an extension of yourself, like you were born to hold this ancient sword that’s been trapped in stone for hundreds of years. And yet, you already miss the heavy weight of the Dragon Blade you’d carried since you were old enough for a real sword.

“Arthur, you must shed your old blade,” your sorcerer Merlin whispers in your ear. “Excalibur won’t accept you if you don’t devote yourself to it wholeheartedly.”

You examine the pure black blade of Excalibur. It has no adornments or jewels, black from hilt to tip. It’s so different from the shining gold dragon scale sword that is now discarded on the temple floor. “I... understand,” you mutter back to him. But you don’t. Not entirely. You’re supposed to give up the sword that got you through so many hardships? The sword you trusted and relied on, that had won you countless battles and slain hundreds of monsters?

You pick up the Dragon Blade with your left hand. Compared to Excalibur in your right, the weight is immense. It was a comfort before, but now it’s almost too much to bear. You can feel energies pulsing from both the blades. Irritation from the Excalibur, sorrow from the Dragon Blade. Quite possibly the only two swords in the world that are  _alive_ , if swords can truly be alive. You’ve felt the Dragon Blade’s elation at winning enough times to think of it as an ally, though it unnerved your sorcerer to no end. Maybe it was because he knew you would have to give up your trusted sword eventually. Merlin always seems to know about these kinds of things. He also neglects to tell you many of them.

But you still trust him. “ _Sire,_ ” he pleads. You nod, and resign yourself to what you have to do.

You turn to your knights. “Who among you is worthy of wielding the Dragon Blade?” You shout. No one answers your call. But you can’t just throw away this sword, you can’t bear the thought of it rotting in the castle’s treasury. The sword is already distressed that you’re giving it up, you don’t want to leave it to stir in its own grief for eternity. “None of you?” You try not to sound frantic, but you certainly feel that way.

“I will wield it,” a voice cries out. You’re relieved for a moment, until the knight steps forward. Sir Tucker, the newest addition to your party. An overweight man who got his title because of his brains (and Merlin’s urging) rather than his skill with any sort of weaponry. No one else steps forward. You hold back a frown. Is the fate of one of your oldest friends doomed to this barely adequate knight?

Your force your expression into a smirk, and throw the Dragon Blade at him. He only just manages to catch it without maiming himself. You draw Excalibur and shift into a fighting stance.

“Show me your worth.”


	3. Afterlife Correction Committee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chief grabs your jacket and yanks you back before you dive headlong into the mirror. “You idiot! Where do you think you’re going?”
> 
> “The ghost is getting away!” You reach for the mirror again, and he gives your jacket another yank, sending you to the floor.
> 
> “He’s long gone, kid. We won’t be putting him to rest tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dream from July 3rd, 2014

The chief grabs your jacket and yanks you back before you dive headlong into the mirror. “You idiot! Where do you think you’re going?”

“The ghost is getting away!” You reach for the mirror again, and he gives your jacket another yank, sending you to the floor.

“He’s long gone, kid. We won’t be putting him to rest tonight.”

You look at the old man in confusion. He doesn’t look as dead as the others--he died of lung cancer, so he didn’t get any visible scars when he came back. Unlike you, with the permanent fingerprints around your throat. “Does this have to do with the rule of always return using the mirror you entered from?”

“Yes.” He helps you up and walks through the mirror on the elevator door you came in from. You follow, and shiver at the feeling of passing through it. You’re back to where you started, exactly where you left. You blink, reorienting yourself with the office building in its non reversed form.

“Once you step into a mirror, everything is reversed,” he says. You nod. You’ve chased enough ghosts through mirrors to know that the dead can’t pass through them, only travel to the reversed dimension. “It’s all a copy, even the mirrors. That’s where the maze starts. If you don’t come back through the same mirror, you wind up inside a mirror, inside a mirror … and it never ends.”

Your already dead complexion turns paler. There’s no life inside the mirrors, only copies of inanimate objects … and those who traveled inside. You remember when you got your first case at a carnival, during your first month as a newly recruited ghost for the Afterlife Correction Committee. You were so excited about helping your first lost soul cross over that you broke off from the chief and searched every building alone. Including the funhouse.

You remember the mirror maze, and you remember the shadows far off in the distance, wailing and moaning. They went through mirror after mirror, trying to get back to the world of the living and you could only watch in horror, until the chief found you and dragged you out, telling you to ignore everything you saw, that it would all be okay. You also remember him giving an order to have all the mirrors in the funhouse destroyed.

“We’ll have to smash the mirror,” the chief says, snapping you out of your daze. “It means erasing the ghost’s existence, but... it’s better than wandering forever.”

You nod solemnly.

The chief sighs. “Go back to headquarters, kid. We’ll help the next one.”

You nod again and move to walk through the open door of the elevator and pass through the wall to the outside world.

“No, _don’t!_ ”

You feel the chief make a grab for your coat and you turn, fast enough to lose your balance and slip right through the chief’s fingers, falling back into the elevator.

The floor, walls, and ceiling are all mirrors.

You keep falling.


	4. Dead on their Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They suffer the same curse as you,” you say, trying to raise your voice above the quiet groaning whisper it usually is to get the attention of the little boy at your feet. “You wondered what happens to those whose souls cannot be reaped... are you sure you do not wish to leave?”

“They suffer the same curse as you,” you say, trying to raise your voice above the quiet groaning whisper it usually is to get the attention of the little boy at your feet. “You wondered what happens to those whose souls cannot be reaped... are you sure you do not wish to leave?”

The boy shakes his head and clings to your black robes, trying to hide from the corpses that stumble through the courtyard.

“Very well. I am going to try again. Please step back.”

He nods and obeys your request, but doesn’t speak. He hasn’t since he got cursed. You never even got his name, and he never bothered to give any indication of what it was. You’re mostly sure that he’s illiterate anyhow, so there wouldn’t be a way to convey his name even if he wanted to.

You raise your scythe to a woman in green shambling towards you. With a swift motion you cut her in half and her torso topples from her hips, both halves continuing to move as if nothing had happened. You look down to the little boy, his brown skin turned white at the knuckles from the grip on your robes--so much for stepping back--and his dark eyes wide and terrified. You try to imagine how he must feel, knowing that this will be his fate.

“Come here, child.” You pick him up in your skeletal arms, scythe dissipating in a flurry of shadows. You move upwards on the breeze until you’re above the undead humans, and land atop the high stone wall that keeps them inside. “I should not have brought you. You are too young to have this memory weighing on your mind.” Not as if you could have left him behind, even if you wanted to. The boy was crafty, he kept coming back.

He doesn’t respond, only stares out at the poor souls that should have separated from their bodies long ago. The living decided it was easier to just keep them barricaded off where they would bump into each other all day long rather than try to destroy them, which is an impossible feat. They continue moving no matter how many pieces you chop them into. Even reduced to ashes, the dead form a mass of black and continue to roam. They don’t pose a threat, but they  _are_  highly unnerving. Even to you.

The boy can’t be any more than 10. The curse hit him like a brick to the face some months ago while you were trying to track down the person you thought was the origin of the curse. You couldn’t leave the child when he started crying because he started glowing white. And when he trailed after you because he had no home to go back to, you didn’t stop him.

He’s only 10 years old. If he isn’t killed, that gives you 76 years, 9 days, 4 hours and 3 seconds to find a way to fix this curse.

 


	5. His Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tree is huge – larger than the mansion where you last saw the man you came to visit. The branches overhang a cliff that drops down below a thin cloud layer which reveals a forested valley, and beyond that, plains, and even farther on the horizon, a set of mountains covered in mist. You circle around the massive trunk until you find the rope ladder and climb up, trying not to look down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: rape mention

The tree is huge. Larger than the mansion where you last saw the man you came to visit. The branches overhang a cliff that drops down below a thin cloud layer which reveals a forested valley, and beyond that, plains, and even farther on the horizon, a set of mountains covered in mist. You circle around the massive trunk until you find the rope ladder and climb up, trying not to look down.

You reach the top of the ladder where a square platform of wood is surrounded by thin branches, purposefully shaped into a sort of cage or fence. One side is adorned with a hammock. On the opposite side, facing the valley below, there are no branches blocking the view. Instead, a bench swing sits on the edge of the platform, allowing you to hang your feet over the several hundred mile drop. You can’t even see the cliff side from here.

The reason you came here speaks up from his seat on the swing. “Hey,” he says. “You came.”

“How’d you know it was me?”

“My therapist said you’d visit.”

“Oh.” You shove your hands in the pockets of your jacket and scuff your sneakers on the wood. “I’m not sorry I blinded you.”

“Nah, don’t be sorry. I deserved it,” he shakes his head. “I tried to rape your friend. Getting hit in the head and going blind is hardly an adequate punishment. I deserve to be in jail.”

“On the one hand I agree. Like, you have _no idea_ how much I agree. But--”

“The drastic personality switch from the blow, yeah,” he laughs. “I’m glad I’m not a douche anymore, believe me. But now I know that all the stuff I’ve been doing up until now is …” he chokes on his words. “I hate myself. I hate past me. I shouldn’t have walked free. I was found guilty but I was let off the hook just because I’m blind. I know I would never try anything like that ever again, but I already _did_. Past me already did it.”

You stay silent.

“Why are you here?”

“I heard some interesting things about what you said when you woke up.”

The man turns bright red. “Oh.”

“So it’s true?”

“In a way.”

“You _do_ think I’m an angel?”

“You’re the last thing I remember, before I blacked out. Your face was lit up in a white glow, and you laid your hands on me, and... and there was a voice, you told me that I’d be a better person from here on out. And that I would pay for what I tried to do. You... were the angel who showed me mercy. I’m grateful, I’m so thankful, and I swear I won’t squander the second chance you’ve given me. I promise I--”

“ _Stop_ ,” you shout. “I’m not listening to this.” You stand up and walk back to the ladder and begin to climb down, even as he pleads for you, his angel, to come back.


	6. Krohen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sword made of bone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: violence, broken bones

It’s impossible to stare down the pale man in front of you. You’re half his height and it doesn’t help that the stone tiles of the old church courtyard seems to be slanted just enough so that you’re on lower ground. The man tilts his head and peers at you. “Little boy, I told you to bring Krohen and leave before I arrived. You have failed on both accounts.”

You take a shaky breath and put on your most confident voice. “I can’t give it to you.” He opens his mouth to question you, but you cut him off by raising your left hand in front of you and pulling back the sleeve of your hoodie. A tattoo of a sword and shield mark your forearm, a ribbon swirled around the shield spelling “Krohen”. You place your right hand above the image and _pull_. A white light covers your arm and you pull again, bringing the sword out, the ribbon wrapping around the handle as you grab it. The light disappears and you point the sword tip to the floor.

“Bonded with Krohen,” the man mutters. “I require the sword, boy,” he snaps.

“I _literally_ can’t give it to you.” You move to put the sword back in the tattoo. “I’ve tried to leave it behind before. It always comes back wh-”

“Wait,” he says. You freeze. “What is your name?”

You hesitate. “Kahlil.”

He nods in approval, then gestures to himself. “I am Payton. And, I do apologize. I simply like to know the names of those I need to fight.”

You only get a fraction of a second to register Payton’s words before he rushes at you, a silver sword drawn from seemingly nowhere. You bring up your own milky white sword, barely in time to block his attack.

“Fast reflexes,” Payton compliments. “But you need better footing.” He gives you a solid shove and you topple, keeping a tight grip on Krohen. You move to get back up but the hilt of Payton’s sword is suddenly rammed into your chest and you cry out as you’re thrown to the side. Your fingers lose their grip and Krohen falls next to you. You reach for it, but Payton walks over and picks it up before you can even get near it.

He looks confused. “What is this made out of? It almost looks like-” he freezes, and looks to your arm. “Oh, it is. How interesting.” He grins. “Change of plans. Let’s experiment.” He steps closer to you. “Krohen has bonded to you. To your arm. What would happen if I just-” Payton grabs each end of Krohen in his hands and brings it down over his knee.

Krohen snaps clean in half.

There’s a flash of light, a swirl of ribbon, and another _crack_ coming from your arm.

The sword is back in the tattoo, and you can see purple and black blossoming beneath your skin.

Your brain catches up with your broken arm and you scream.

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> including art i drew of the character shortly after i had the dream--and before i changed the spelling in the written version


End file.
